Chase (ChronoShift Trilogy) by Zack Mason Page A

which shut all our shifters down.  You think they're still here?"
    "Unless theirs reset faster than mine, they're out there somewhere."  He pointed at the main exit.
    "Then let's avoid making ourselves a target and find another way out of here."
    There was a smaller door on the back side of the building, so they used it.  Outside, on the opposite side of the road, was a large medieval festival attended by at least several hundred people.  Yet, he realized that what he and Hardy considered medieval, these people would consider modern.
    Twelfth century London was quite a sight to take in.  Like it or not, Hardy had gotten his wish.
    It was like being at the Renaissance Fair.  Everywhere he looked were rows of single story wooden houses and buildings.  Every roof was made of thatch.  Even here in London, stone was not yet a common building material.
    One building in the skyline stood out, the only building he could see, in fact, that was made of stone besides a couple of larger churches.  It was a large, multi-storied squarish, castle-like fortification, its stones white in color.  Mark recognized it as the White Tower, which in modern times was the central portion of the Tower of London.
    The streets were not teeming with people, but there was plenty of activity.  Men, women, and children were dressed in rough, woolen clothing for the most part.   For all the care that had been put into their making, their attire might as well have been made of sackcloth.
    Children were helplessly dirty.  The stench of the unwashed was everywhere as people passed by on the street.  Mark and Hardy remained in the recessed side street, still hidden from the sight of most, which was good because their attire did not match the era.
    A couple of more nicely dressed gentlemen were engrossed in a conversation on a corner up the hill about two hundred feet away.  One of them was vested very colorfully in what appeared to be silk.
     
    Across the street at the festival was an open forum and small stage.  About a hundred men, and a few women, were gathered in front of it.  The stage was occupied by several men dressed just as humbly as the crowd.  The "bard" on the stage was telling some story which had the crowd fascinated.  They alternately laughed, then yelled along with the thread of the tale.
    Wooden steins, undoubtedly filled with grog, filled the fists of all these merry men, golden liquid sloshing and spilling as they made jokes and carried on.  They were celebrating something.
    Mark and Hardy were beginning to receive more and more prolonged glances from the people passing by.   A young child spied them and panicked, running off down the street yelling for somebody.
    "We need to get some local clothes, fast."
    Hardy nodded in agreement.  They backed further into their side street away from the people.
    "How do you want to do it?"
    "We may have to grab a few passersby and knock ’em out."
    Their reflexes weren't fast enough to react to the all-too-familiar shriek of an RPG plowing through the air before the house next to them exploded in a cloud of fire and splintered timbers.
    The joyful London peasants were suddenly scrambling for cover, abandoning the streets.  Mark and Hardy did the same, pistols drawn, withdrawing, seeking cover.  Rialto had seen them before they'd seen him.
    They raced for the other end of their street, only to see "Grey Patch" block their exit wielding an Uzi.
    "This way!"  Hardy yelled, throwing himself through the thin wooden slats which made up the wall of a house to their left. They burst through wall after wall, randomly changing directions, gaining access to new buildings and unpredictable pathways, shocking not just a few unsuspecting medieval serfs.  Mark's shoulder burned from the impacts with these walls.  Though they were thin, they still resisted brute force.  Thankfully, adrenaline numbed most of the pain.
    The benefit of this tactic was that Rialto and crew would not be able to